


Promises, Promises

by thewriterpoe



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mentioned/Hinted Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Racial/Ethnic Propaganda, Racial/Ethnic Supremacy Language, Triggers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterpoe/pseuds/thewriterpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Taemin got like that; like he’d forgotten that there was a war going on, like he’d forgotten that did terrible things to Jongin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises, Promises

      Taemin watched Jongin over the newspaper he was pretending to read: the tense jaw, the eyes overly focused on the back and forth movement of the file as he groomed Taemin’s nails.  Taemin took in Jongin’s limp hair, his button nose, his generous mouth. There was a cut across the lip from when he slapped Jongin while wearing his party ring. Taemin felt bad about that. He couldn’t remember why he had hit the other but he was sure it was Jongin’s fault. Still, he should have been careful with his prisoner’s beautiful face.

      Jongin shifted slightly on his knees and the movement immediately drew Taemin’s gaze to the way the linen tunic clung over the other’s back, detailing the curve of bone, muscle and flesh.  It would have been so easy to rip the material in two and order Jongin to suck him off.

      “Enough,” Taemin barked.

      Jongin flinched at the sound, trembling with his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden floor.

      “Leave,” Taemin shouted, kicking at him.

      Jongin scrambled to his feet, wincing from the pain of Taemin’s boot connecting with his thigh. He closed the door behind him but he didn’t go far. He knew not to.

      Taemin slammed his fist against the dining table, cursing Jongin for getting him riled up. Still, he didn’t stop his left hand from pulling his semi-hard cock from its enclosures and stroking it leisurely. He hummed his pleasure into the room, closing his eyes and visualizing Jongin’s lips wrapping softly around his head.

      “Fuck,” he hissed, feeling the buildup intensify.

      It went on like this for a while but he couldn’t seem to find release. It was Jongin’s fault, he decided. It was always Jongin’s fault. Why, then, shouldn’t he make the scum pay for it? Why shouldn’t he call Jongin back in the room and fuck him? He was pretty, for a sub-human, and it was not like others didn’t do the same - he was ninety-eight percent sure Jinki was fucking Minho. The party would, of course, frown upon it but he could say that Jongin seduced him with his witchcraft. There was propaganda going around that the people from the south practiced witchcraft. Jongin would, of course, be killed and Taemin wouldn’t be able to eat carbonara every Friday.

      Taemin grunted in frustration at both the inconvenience of Jongin’s probable death and his lack of release. He didn’t understand what was holding back? Why he didn’t just bend Jongin over, spread his ass cheeks open, and sink deep into him.

      “There,” he whispered, his thighs quaking at the thought of Jongin’s ass. He’d seen it – pert and round – when he had punished Jongin for some infraction or another.

      “Oh God,” Taemin moaned, remembering the red marks of his cane on Jongin’s skin, and he came.

      Tucking himself into the pristine pants of his grey lieutenant’s uniform, he grimaced at having orgasmed at the thought of his prisoner of war. He decided that it was time he swallowed his pride and paid Jonghyun a visit. Even though Jonghyun could be annoying sometimes, he was, at least, categorically human. Taemin indecent thoughts of Jongin were tantamount to bestiality.

      Stepping out of the dining room, he collected his cap and jacket from Jongin’s hand as he would from a coat rack and left. He didn’t tell Jongin where he was going or when he’d be back because he didn’t particularly care that it was dangerous for Jongin when he was gone; that the men under his command leered at Jongin when he walked passed them; that Jongin would have to lock himself behind the cellar where they couldn’t find him; that that meant Jongin would have to go days without eating.

________________

 

      For a long time, the only thing Jongin could hear was the inhale and exhale of his cold breath. He could feel it hang in the air before it dissipated into the darkness. It was always cold down there; and it clung to his marrow with fierce jealousy. And dark too; so he never knew whether it was day or night. Time was meaningless… and infinite.

      It had been about a week since Taemin left. He knew that much because he heard the church bells toll for Sunday Mass. Taemin had never been gone this long before and Jongin wondered if Taemin had been killed. Something resembling a smile formed on his chapped lips– _the northern brat deserved worse_. But the smile was chased down by the realization that if Taemin was dead then his life, too, was forfeit. There would be no one to stop the soldiers in the camp from finding him in his hole behind the cellar and having their disgusting way with him.

      Taemin had saved him, that day they first met. Jongin remembered standing half naked, in a puddle of his own urine as the young lieutenant fixed him with a surveying look. Taemin had apologized for the behavior of his men, complaining bitterly about having to stand command over low class riff raff who only joined the army for three square meals while his peers were skiing somewhere in Switzerland. Then, taking out a slim cigarette from a gold plated cigarette box, lighting it with a similarly crested cigarette lighter, Taemin asked Jongin if he knew how to make carbonara – he’d been dying for decent carbonara since ‘this awful war began.’ Taemin had promised that if Jongin was any good, he’d keep him under his protection and no one, not even he would touch him. Jongin had startled at those words, not really trusting them. But for his part, Taemin had kept that promise.

      So for the first time, Jongin prayed for Taemin. He was never good at his prayers since all this time he’d been praying and Taemin was still alive and uninjured. And what a cruel turn of fate that this prayer would be the one God heard. Still, he was relieved to hear Taemin’s voice yelling for him.

      Dragging his aching limbs, he went in search Taemin as fast as he could, unconsciously rubbing the scar from when he took too long to be at his captor’s side.

      “There you are,” Taemin grabbed him by the arm as he emerged from the dining room. “Were you hiding from me again?”

      “Not from you,” Jongin whispered desperately. He could smell alcohol on Taemin’s breath and there were blood stains on the cuffs of his uniform. The last time Taemin came home in such a state, he almost broke Jongin’s arm. Taemin was spiteful when he drank, cruel even.

      “Jongin, it was awful,” Taemin cried, wiping the tears from his face.

      Jongin tried not to react to the despair in his captor’s voice or the redness of his eyes.

      “All those dead people, women and children included. I didn’t want to do it but you know Kibum…when he’s in a rage there’s no stopping him.” Everyone knew Kibum. He was infamous for his brand of cruelty. “I was so scared because one of the young boys looked just like you.” Taemin continued pulling Jongin into a hug the other did not reciprocate. But holding him like that, Jongin was sure Taemin could feel him trembling. “I wish this damned war would just end,” Taemin wailed, sliding down Jongin’s body. “I’m a good person. Really I am. It’s just that war makes monsters of men.”

      Jongin didn’t know what to do. Taemin was drunk and distraught, and nuzzling his nose against his crotch.

      “My conscience is in turmoil. Won’t you give me some comfort?” Taemin pleaded, reaching under Jongin’s tunic and pulling his pants and underwear down. As pathetic as Taemin looked, they both knew that Jongin was not in a position to refuse. So when Taemin flicked his eyes up to receive his answer, Jongin fixed his gaze on the far wall, his empty eyes filling with tears.

      “You promised,” Jongin chocked on the words. The day Taemin saved Jongin from the gang rape he promised that no one would touch him.

      “I know,” Taemin replied, teasing a wet trail up Jongin’s thigh. “But Jonghyun wasn’t there and then Kibum dragged me on his mission. I just really need to fuck something right now.” There was an angry bruise fading on Jongin’s left thigh. Taemin frowned, kissed it tenderly then took Jongin’s cock in his hand and sank his mouth down to base.

      Jongin tried not to react to the warmth enveloping him but he was failing. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything other than hate or hopelessness. This feeling, the feeling of arousal, was strong. He curled his fingers into his palms, holding back the sounds attempting to escape his lips. He ignored Taemin’s encouragement to grab his hair, keeping his hands firmly at his sides.

      “I’ll make it good for you too,” Taemin promised slipping a finger between the crack of Jongin’s ass. 

      The first time Jongin was intimate with anyone, he’d just passed his college entrance exams and a friend he was secretly in love with gave him a congratulatory blowjob. Bent over, it was that person that Jongin tried to conjure up in his mind while Taemin worked him open. But every time Jongin thought he remembered a smile or a gaze, his mind went blank at the exquisite sensation of Taemin’s dick brushing against his prostrate. It was confusing with the way Taemin was complimenting him and kissing his back. Jongin promised himself that he wouldn’t moan but every now and again, when the angle changed, an embarrassingly needy sound slipped passed his pinched lips.

      “Oh,” Taemin moaned. “Just like that, move your hips just like that. Fuck, you feel so good.”

      Jongin could feel the beginnings of his orgasm and fought hard against Taemin’s relentless pace to deny him that satisfaction.

      “Just let go,” Taemin growled with a particularly hard thrust and Jongin was spilling his seed onto the floor.  At that moment, the only person Jongin hated more than Taemin was himself.

      “Was it good for you, too?” Taemin asked, pulling him into a back hug.

      Jongin didn’t say anything.

      “Oh! I’ve got a present for you,” Taemin said, suddenly cheerful. He pulled up his pants and reached into the right pocket. “Chocolate,” he explained when Jongin just stared blankly at the small brown paper wrapped package. Taemin sometimes got like this; like he’d forgotten that there was a war going on, like he’d forgotten that does terrible things to Jongin.

      “You could at least smile or say thank you,” Taemin pouted.

      "Thank you," Jongin said automatically but he did not smile.

      “When this war is over,” Taemin offered solemnly. “I’m going to take you away with me to live in the mountains.”

      _When this war is over_ , Jongin thought, _they won’t find your body_.


End file.
